


Farewell Transmission

by unovanchick



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, No pokemon AU, Nuzlocke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unovanchick/pseuds/unovanchick
Summary: "The whole place is darkEvery light on this side of the townSuddenly it all went downNow we'll all be brothers of the fossil fire of the sunNow we will all be sisters of the fossil blood of the moon"Blackouts always complicate matters.





	Farewell Transmission

**Author's Note:**

> This is the only way to spur on this writing. A little experiment to see if this spurs me on to finish it.

The call cut through the heat.

A call at this hour was unusual, Erin thought, making way to the phone. The fans around her house did little to stop the sheen of sweat on her skin. 

“Hello, Erin speaking,” she said, picking up the receiver.

“I might need your help.”

“Hi there, BIanca.” Erin smiled, cradling the receiver between her ear and shoulder. Instantly regretting it. Her skin was already bitching at her for it, sweating. It should be cooler by now, summer or not, with the setting sun and the hanging clouds. “What is it this time?” 

Help could mean a lot of things between them. Erin remembered the time she bailed her out of a fancy gallery he had snuck into. Good times. She took her time to reply.

“It’s-it’s serious this time,” she said, static cloaking her voice. Erin’s smile stiffened, a show of teeth to no one. Hopefully that would change. She moved the phone from its perch, holding it in her hand.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t changing, no matter the gravity of whatever problem Bianca had, just the tone and the swiftness of it. Erin looked at her window. Just the building next to her with the blinds closed. 

“Can you…can you come here—shit—can you?.” Scratching from the other side of the line. The movement of stiff fabric, like canvas or denim. “Please.” 

Please. That word. Erin shook her head. There was a pounding in her ears, echoing the word. Please. Burgh had never said it like that. Actually pleading as if Erin would be unwilling to give her help. Air weighted down her lungs. Thoughts would rise, half formed, before strangling from Please Please Please coiling around them. 

“You know I will.” Erin paced toward the bookshelf in her living room. Well, as much as the phone’s cord allowed. The box in the middle shelf was within reach and she plucked it from it. The tin box of Juniper Jupes was rusted on its corners, making it a tug of war to take the lid off.

There was scrambling from the other line, a shout. Something clattered, heavy and with finality, Bianca’s cursing a post note. 

“Get here as soon as-”

The line went dead.

The tin lid fell.

Bianca’s name was on Erin’s lips, but it would be useless to scream it. Her heart did though, hammering and hammering like a piston whinnying, ready to break. 

She knew she had to act fast. The dial tone edged her to run and clack the receiver in its rightful place, tin box in hand. The snivy knife gleamed with promise among old postcards. She didn’t have time to sigh at it, or reminisce. A weapon shouldn’t be longed for like this, but Erin did as she took it out and pocketed it. 

Her heart-piston whirred. She would handle whatever was happening. The only detail that mattered was Bianca’s safety. Erin’s gaze moved to her kitchen, a stone’s skip away from the phone to look at the time. The microwave was her clock as far as she was concerned. 4:10 blinked lazily in green. That would mean the call would’ve been made from Bianca’s workplace, the Nacrene Museum. Now, that would be easy, taking the subway would take half an hour and less than five minutes of walking, even if everyone rushed out. Get Bianca, deal with the problem. That was it. No whats, or whos or whys. 

Erin needed to grab her bag, that old reliable thing, and she would be out. 

An explosion threw the plan to the wayside. 

It wasn’t nearby, no, but it didn’t have to be to rock the building _just_ enough for Erin to grab into the doorframe. The dog from E4 barked, its neighboring pack joining in from scattered apartments around. Still, Erin remained in place, half on her knees, half on her feet, the frame supporting her. 

In the kitchen, the numbers blinked out of existence. The fan grew silent; the blades spun slower and slower until they wouldn’t anymore. 

Erin gritted her teeth, nails digging into wood. Already the heat made itself known, concentrating on the back of her neck and her ears. With a heave, she rose to her feet. 

A blackout.

She tied her hair into a ponytail. Things always had a way of mucking themselves up.

“ _Great._ ”


End file.
